Again and Again

Chapter 14

Simon’s conversation at dinner would have passed muster with the most conservative prelate. Caroline was pleased. Ian was shocked. Jane, who knew Simon less well, began to think all the gossip about the duke might have been overstated. He was a pattern card of good manners.

He never raised his voice. He had a well-considered opinion on any topic of conversation, although his tact in allowing others their say was really quite extraordinary. Jane even began wondering if her sister might have been wrong in her latest tidbit of gossip from London. Simon’s every action was unequivocally gallant.

She hadn’t realized he was so committed to his tenants. Apparently, he’d rebuilt entire villages on his properties, equipping them with schools and hospitals as well. He also served on the village council and supported a parish church that was renowned for its charity. Before long, Jane began to view her single-minded devotion to the hunt as a wholly inadequate use of her time. Perhaps she should show more concern for their tenants. But when she made mention of her unease, Simon immediately assuaged her guilt. He not only hunted with three of the premier hunts in England, he noted, he often traveled abroad to hunt as well. So he fully understood, her love of the chase.

Comforted and consoled, she was soon smiling once again.

Knowing the reason for Simon’s obliging politesse, Caroline observed his performance with a more jaundiced eye. But regardless his motivation, she couldn’t fault him for his cultivated charm. Dinner was delightful, the conversation, suavely directed by Simon, offered everyone an opportunity to express their views.

All in all, the evening couldn’t have been more convivial.

After dinner, while the men drank port, the ladies retired to the drawing room for tea and Jane was fulsome in her praises of Simon. “I feel awful,” she added, after characterizing Simon’s virtues at length, “for slandering Simon so this morning. Since you knew of him in the past, you must have thought me quite mad.”

“Not at all. Simon’s charm and grace, are, as you mentioned this morning, enormous. That’s not to say, he doesn’t have a foible or two.”

Jane offered Caroline a conspiratorial smile. “As do all men.”

“Undoubtedly. But I want to thank you for inviting me tonight,” Caroline remarked, preferring not to discuss men’s foibles should the subject of husbands and her dead husband come up. “I enjoyed myself immensely.”

“Please, dine with us whenever you wish. I apologize for my tardiness in extending the invitation.”

“There’s no need to apologize. A governess isn’t a member of the family, after all. The children are very bright, by the way. You must come and sit in the schoolroom sometime and listen to their recitations.”

“I will, of course. Tell me more of your friend in Brussels. She seemed so fascinating.”

Understanding Jane had little interest in her children’s schooling, Caroline immediately complied. “Did I tell you about her visit to the sultan’s harem in Constantinople?”

“Ohhhh… how very exciting!”

Caroline went on to describe in detail Flora’s various excursions into the harem.

“My word,” Jane said, breathless with wonder as Caroline finished. “Even her name is exotic… and her life: Constantinople, the tragedy of her husband’s death, the harem, palace coups.” She sighed. “It makes the provincial moors of Yorkshire seem tame in contrast.”

“Your life would have held considerable charm for Flora. She often spoke of growing up at her grandmother’s estate in the French countryside.”

“She died so young,” Jane murmured.

“She’d been in fragile health for some time. And the circumstances that brought her to Brussels took their toll.”

“Her husband’s brutal family in Portugal you mean.”

“Yes. When they refused her refuge, she was forced to make her own way in the world. Nevertheless, she was never disheartened. She sustained her belief in silver linings till the end.”

“Who did?” Simon asked, coming into the room carrying a decanter.

“Flora.”

“Ah, your friend from Brussels. We thought you ladies might like some port.”

“It’s the reserve stock.” Ian followed Simon into the drawing room. “And damned good.”

His red face gave evidence of his imbibing. Simon, in contrast, looked sober.

A short time later as Jane and Ian were debating which glasses best suited the reserve port, Simon took the opportunity to pour some of the liquor into a glass for Caroline. Walking over, he handed it to her with a smile. “They could be talking about the next coming and I wouldn’t care.”

“You’re showing well,” she said, lightly, gazing up at him.

“I’ve good reason to.”

She grinned. “Are you counting the minutes?”

“The seconds, darling…”

A shiver raced up her spine at his heated look. “Simon, please… don’t,” she whispered.

“They’re busy. I could kiss you and they wouldn’t notice.”

As he began to lean forward, she pressed back against the chair. “Don’t you dare!”

Her breasts swelled above the décolletage of her gown as her spine went rigid, and Simon clenched his fists against the impulse to reach out and stroke the mounded flesh. “It’s been a long evening,” he murmured. “Right now, I’m just about ready to dare anything.”

Skittish, fevered, she sharply inhaled and her nipples strained against the silk of her gown. “Please. Simon…”

She meant to abjure, but it sounded as though she were asking and her enticing nipples were close enough to touch. Lust spiked through his senses; he quickly stepped back. “Let me know if you like the port,” he said in a conversational tone, every syllable taut with constraint.

Then he walked away before he lost control.

As Ian became more inebriated, he expounded on a great variety of subjects with a decreasing clarity of thought.

Simon barely spoke. Restless, edgy, he watched the clock, his hosts, and waited.

Caroline was waiting too, although she would have preferred feeling less needy. Desperately wanting sex with Simon placed her on a very long list of females. An annoyingly long list. And while Ian droned on and on, she attempted to regain her sanity-or at least, some measure of control over the desire burning through her body.

To little purpose, apparently, because when Simon surreptitiously winked at her in the midst of one of Ian’s long, meandering monologues, every carnal nerve in her body leaped in response.

Finally, as Ian began describing his new hunting dog for the third time, Jane said, “Ian, that’s enough. Come now, before the servants have to carry you to bed.”

“Can walk jus’ fine,” he retorted, rising from his chair and promptly pitching forward.

Lunging to his feet, Simon caught him before he hit the floor.

“I’ll call for help,” Jane said, calmly, as though this occurrence wasn’t new. “Can you hold him upright a few moments more, Simon?”

“Why don’t I carry him upstairs?” Simon offered. Anything to put an end to this torturous evening.

“Nonsense. Ian for heaven’s sake, sit or stand.”

Brushing Simon away, Ian fell back into his chair.

Jane smiled. “He does so like his port.”

Caroline and Simon responded in some desultory fashion to Jane’s comments while they waited, although neither could have recalled the conversation with their minds otherwise occupied.

And after what seemed a very long time to two people on the verge of carnal combustion, three servants entered the room to carry Ian away. By this time, he was softly snoring, a casualty to Portugal’s best port.

Following her husband, Jane turned to wave from the doorway. “I’ll see you both in the morning.”

And a second later, Caroline and Simon were alone.